“ … ” and “ .-. ”

You see, each person who has ever been in a relationship knows that we all can relate to those little things that only you two get to share. Each relationship has them, or should.

Those things that you two get to participate in. Those things are special no matter what.

Only you two get to know it. It is just for you.

Maybe it is that song you share. That Orange Sky. That I Will Follow You Into the Dark. That She’s Got A Way. That Three Days. That Naked As We Came.

Maybe that TV show. That Good Place. That Big Mouth. That SNL episode.

That restaurant. Those burritos. Damn, those fuckin’ burritos.

Or maybe it’s an August stroll down a busy hipster neighboorhood lined with bars and restaurants, while a buttplug is shoved inside you, holding my cum in place while you wear a dress that makes every other woman in line-of-sight look like a character on a Cops episode by comparison.

Maybe it’s me walking next to you, of course on the side closest the traffic, pretending I am blocking you from a car should it jump the curb. Me eyeballing every guy we pass on our way to open the door for you as I enjoy Chicken Tikka Masala, where you expect me to not be able to handle spicy food, which was totally adorable.

It’s driving down the road with takeout in a rented SUV, that I made sure to upgrade to, of course, so I could tell myself that I am impressing you, completely lame like a total fucking teenager.

It’s espresso in the morning.

It’s the sound your breath makes after you cum.

It’s the way you taste, everywhere.

It’s all those little things.

It’s a man with a pretty bad memory being able to recite every single little detail of every moment with you in absolute clarity.

But why? Because you mean the fucking world to me.

So yeah: …

And yeah: .-.

I ain’t going anywhere cupcake. Like I told you before, I got a lot of life left in me for you. What we have here is special, Kitten.